Victory is Sweet Revenge is Bitter
by FBI Bones
Summary: The Demon is gone and with his demise returns John Winchester, beaten, bloody, and tortured from his time in hell. Sam is adamant they help him return to full health only Dean isn't sure this man is even their father... could he be right?


_Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural… oh the possibilities…_

_Summary: 'The Demon' is gone and with his demise returns John Winchester, beaten, bloody, and tortured from his time in hell. Sam is adamant they help him return to full health only Dean isn't sure this man is even their father... could he be right?_

_Rating: If you've watched the show then your not so virgin eyes aren't going to be burned any more than they already are by this fiction's contents._

_Genre:… haven't a clue!_

_Author's Notes: I'm not so sure where this came from, I was listening to 'Slipped Away' the other day and this idea came into my head… not sure about it really but you know plot bunnies, they're like doomsayers with teeth._

_I don't know exactly when this is set (I've seen up to 'Tall Tales' so far) and it will, of course, be AU when 'The Demon' is finally defeated, but for now the only definitive thing I know about is that it's (obviously) set after IMToD!_

Prologue

The fight was something he had loved since as far back as he let himself remember; the adrenaline rush was something that never seemed to loose it's novelty and the fire that laced every muscle in his body was some how addictive in it's persistence.

But right now every limb felt too heavy to lift and he was pretty sure the tickling sensation on the side of his face wasn't the lips of the pretty young woman he had conjured in his mind after loosing consciousness however long ago it had been but of blood from his throbbing temple.

He blinked lazily and with that action he brought forth a whole mess of injuries he didn't want to think about or register existed, in fact going to sleep was a rather welcome suggestion but not a possible one as his eyes snapped further open as he caught sight of Sam lying in a heap some six feet to his left.

"Sam?" his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, like he'd been shouting too loudly but his throat didn't sting, it felt too swollen for that to happen "Sam?" he tried to speak louder but his vision swam with the effort it took to try and push himself into a more manageable position so he could complete the inevitably necessary act of standing.

The fear that set itself in the pit of his stomach wound it's fingers around his insides, tugging and pulling at them as he heaved himself away from the wall; an intense wave of nausea sent him sprawling to his knees and grit his teeth as slamming his hands into the concrete sent twin spirals of pain up both his arms, meeting between his shoulder blades and spreading like water down his back. "Sam!"

A groan from Sam signified his waking and he let loose a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, the sound motivated him enough to crawl over to where his brother lay with his back to him, streaks of dirt marred the light brown jacket Sam sported and as he came to a stop and took several breaths that gave away how much effort moving over had taken with little to no effort on Dean's part to convey it he noticed that whilst mud and dirt striped his back, blood matted in his hair and mixed with the dust of the floor created a thin sticky mess.

"Dean?" his eyes flickered open and his forehead was already creased into a frown, rolling on to his back, Dean was glad to see his brother was in subsequently less pain than him and slumped against the wall "what happened?" Sam rubbed a hand over his eyes as if trying to wake himself up from a particularly deep sleep.

Dean couldn't help but grin "we smoked the son of a bitch,"

Sam's hand dropped back to his side and he pushed himself to sit up, wincing as it induced a dizzy spell and letting Dean take a firm hold of his arm and help haul him to lean against the wall "good," he breathed, closing his eyes and resting his head on the brick behind him "that's… good."

The words themselves seemed to be casual, as if 'brilliant' was to good an adjective but it was better than 'okay' but the exhaustion in his voice was audible and Dean both understood and shared his sentiment on the subject. They'd done it; finally defeated the demon responsible for killing both their mom and dad, Jessica, all the other young mothers, girlfriends or just people close to them likely to get in the way of this 'army' that The Demon had wanted to create using hell spawn and humans alike in order to instigate a massacre that no one other than hunters and their contacts, like Ellen and Ash, knew was coming.

It wasn't really silent but neither was there a noise he could pin point as the disturbance in the quiet, the generator attached to the ceiling that was presumably part of the lighting system when the warehouse had been in use had long since rusted to the point that it was useless. The warehouse was way out, miles from heavily trafficked roads and the nearest house was visible only in good light and was no bigger than half his fist on the horizon. The only real sounds were of haggard breaths and raw gasps that wouldn't normally be within his hearing range because there was always something else going on.

He thought he'd slept fairly well the night before; the bar in the last town they'd been to had meant plenty more money for him to hustle and so the hotel that they had rented the room from was luxury compared to some of the places they stayed in; it wasn't anything fancy, just had the simple things like pillows that weren't as flat as cardboard and mattresses that didn't have springs thudding loose in the middle of the night. But now it was as if the eight hours sleep he had managed to get was nothing more than a snatched ten minutes.

"Come on," he knocked Sam's knee with the back of his hand "up and at 'em Sammy,"

Sam's eyes flickered open and for a moment Dean contemplated saying something to him about falling asleep but didn't bother, his own energy was almost entirely drained, if he was a car the phrase would have been 'running on fumes' but that thought only led to the question of whether or not either of them was actually in a fit state to drive the Impala back to the hotel. It wasn't one he was going to answer truthfully, even to himself.

Ignoring the liquid fire coursing through his legs as he used the wall to get himself upright he refused to look at Sam as he could already feel the concern in his gaze, even if was aimed at the back of his head.

"You okay?"

Dean blinked hard, unable to actually recall hearing, or seeing, Sam stand up. He jerked back when his brother went to take his arm and pull him away from the wall "dude, I'm fine," he snapped, harsher than was probably necessary but Sam seemed unfazed, content to watch him through his good eye whilst the other looked bloodshot and angry in the dim light of what was either dusk or dawn, he didn't know, and didn't care. Besides, Sam looked about as steady on his feet as Dean felt and as he felt about ready to collapse, although he was loathe to admit it out loud, it was of no comfort.

* * *

The hotel curtains weren't very thick; enough for the light to be kept out at dawn but as the sun rose higher into the sky the inevitability of it's intrusion could not be shielded and the room they shared was bathed in soft glow that was anything but welcome as his eyes flickered open and it became apparent that the Advil he had swallowed before crawling into bed the previous night had worn off.

Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed Dean ran a hand over his face in an attempt to clear both the sleep from his eyes and the dull reminder of yesterday's battle. He refused to think what he and Sam were supposed to do next, as that only lead to thoughts along a track he did not want to follow.

As he glanced at Sam's bed he recognised the thrum of the shower over the occasional rumble of the cars outside immediately establishing where his brother was. With a heavy sigh he pulled his bag over and rummaged through until he found a clean pair of jeans and shirt, dressing mechanically and refusing to stop when he felt something protest in pain.

There was a knock at the door, sluggish and so slow it sounded like individual taps of the child down the hall playing with his remote control car again and running it into the door as he tried to make it turn around. Still, he decided not to ignore it as after a minute or two it came again. Finishing lacing his boots in a hurry he went over and opened the door.

He'd expected a maid, or even room service, what he hadn't expected was a heavy weight to slam into him with such force he staggered under it. "Sam!" he yelled on reflex before turning back to the man in his arms, Dean couldn't get a good look at him at this angle but the man smelt of sweat, smoke and gun oil.

"What's wrong?" Sam came out, towel held in place around his waist by his right hand and his eyes widening when he saw Dean hauling the unconscious figure into the room, kicking the door shut. "Dean?"

He grunted in exertion, heaving the man onto the nearest bed and depositing him unceremoniously onto the mattress. He didn't answer his brother's prompt as he fought the urge to let his jaw drop.

"Dean that's…" Sam started as if he thought Dean didn't recognise the figure on his bed but he didn't continue his sentence.

_Author's Notes: I know that chapter is short, hopefully the others will be longer but I just wanted to get the fiction started so I knew I could at least try and finish it. I'm still not sure whether even starting this was a good idea. Review if you liked it, don't bother with flames._


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